


TrAash Can Hymns

by Emery



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Scientists, Car Sex, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Graduate School, Library Sex, M/M, Medical School, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reiner Braun and Marco Bodt are medical students, struggling through board exams, messy surgery rotations, and residency applications; their boyfriends Bertholdt Huber and Jean Kirschtein are PhD students fumbling with genetics and cell signaling research while attempting to please their lab director, Dr. Levi Ackermann. It doesn't need saying that they've all chosen a difficult path, but it's the journey (and the creative stress-relief) that really matters.</p>
<p>Be forewarned, this is collection of oneshots following the 30 Day NSFW Challenge and is, as a result, as explicit as explicit can be. The name of the collection stems from its dedication to Aa (avoidingavoidance), because we decided that the fandom needs a great deal more OT4 lovin'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In a Public Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avoidingavoidance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/gifts).



> Once more chapters are posted, I may construct a timeline indicating a more linear construction of each chapters' place in the overarching narrative (if one decides to develop--you never know). 
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](http://emeryylee.tumblr.com) and a couple of Twitters. My personal is [here](http://twitter.com/emeryylee%22). If you're interested in my writing only, go [here](http://twitter.com/four_chambers)! 
> 
> Because I have no idea what kinds of discussion or creativity this might inspire, I'll go ahead and indicate a tag for Tumblr--tracking **fic: traash can hymns**.
> 
> As always, comment here, shoot me a message on Tumblr, tweet at me--you guys know the drill. Happy reading!

It’s something like 10:30 pm on a Thursday night, and Jean always resents the library’s cafe for not being open past five. Who the hell needs coffee before five, anyways? He blinks. Well. He does. And did this afternoon. And the afternoon before that. But fuck it, he’s a PhD student. He figures it’s a little different for people like him. Leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head, he only halfway stifles the massive yawn that bursts forth from his mouth before peering around in semi-embarrassment. There’s not too many people around, and even if someone  _did_ hear, he’s sure they would understand. This is the Health Sciences Library, after all. Medical students and biomedical doctoral candidates and research assistants—his kind of people, and the people who would never pass judgement for yawning in a public place. 

Jean glances back at his computer screen for a moment, considers typing up one more paragraph of the review article he’s been working on forever; but decides almost instantly that if there’s no white chocolate caramel frozen Magic Mocha to keep him going, he might as well be dead. 

Fuck it. There’s tomorrow.

He gathers his shit and for the first time in several hours glances around a space that’s  _not_ the tiny desk-cubicle he’s been working in—there are a few more people left in the library than usual for this time of night, but the fourth floor where Jean has set up camp is still almost abandoned. With his backpack slung over one shoulder, he circles around the bookshelves and the back wall towards the elevators, where a few doors lead to private study rooms. The little windows on the door only allow Jean a passing glance into most of the rooms, but the light remains on in one, the door solidly closed. He thinks he catches a glimpse of Marco, and he doubles back just to check. A grin spreads across his face.

Jean is unapologetic when Marco nearly startles out of his seat at the abrupt opening of the study room door. “Long time no see, babe.” As close as they are, they respect each other’s busy schedules and constant need to live in the library or the lab; but that doesn’t mean that Jean misses his boyfriend any less when it’s been particularly hectic for the both of them.

“Jean,” Marco breathes out.

He looks tired. His hair is ruffled, probably from where he’s been desperately running his hands through it to keep himself awake; and two thermoses full of what was presumably a couple of caffeinated beverages sit on the desk amongst his laptop and spread of notes. An empty chip bag and half a Mountain Dew tell of his adventures to the third floor vending machines. 

“Exam tomorrow,” Jean guesses when he slings his backpack onto the other side of the table and leans down to wrap his arms around Marco’s neck from behind.

“ _Final_ exam,” Marco emphasizes.

“Poor baby.” Jean kisses the back of Marco’s neck, who leans back into Jean’s touches and lets his eyes slide shut.  

“You glad you got out when you did?”

Jean breathes out a little laugh against Marco’s skin. “Not like being a PhD is any easier. I just couldn’t handle another damned patient throwing shade at me for being a student.”

“Gets worse in residency,” Marco chuckles.

“Exactly what I’m fuckin’ saying.”

For a few moments, they enjoy each other. It’s quiet save for the hum of the air conditioning, and Jean bites his lip when a crazy idea pushes itself into his own weary brain.

“You probably haven’t done anything to de-stress in, like, two weeks,” he comments when he slides away from Marco’s neck.

A little whine of loss accompanies Marco’s deadpan answer. “Oops. Got me.”

“Well I’ve got an idea.” Jean glances out the tiny window into the rest of the library and considers his options for a moment. If he positions himself  _under_ the table, no one would ever know. Hell, it’s hard just to see enough into the room to know that Marco’s in there at all, and no one’s going to walk by and just plant themselves by the window to watch. Jean smirks. They won’t know what they’re missing.

The moment he slips underneath the table and nudges himself between Marco’s legs, he realizes just how badly he’s been wanting to suck cock for the past week. Bertholdt’s been way too stressed over some experiment of his that hasn’t been working, and Reiner’s on his surgery rotation so like  _hell_ he’s been in the mood for much of anything except sleep during his precious hours away from the hospital. 

“ _Jean_ ,” Marco scolds, voice a harsh whisper. 

Nope. He’s not taking “no” for an answer.

Marco pleads with him as Jean fumbles with the button and zipper on his pants. “Jean. Jean, I’m not even going to be able to get off. I’m way too stressed. I don’t have time. We’re in the  _library_. It’ll make me sleepy. I’’m trying to pull an all-nighter. Jean. Jean.  _Fuck, Jean_.”

No point in waiting any longer, Jean figures, and takes as much of Marco into his mouth as he can, all at once. The heavy taste of musk on his tongue is so much better than the sugary coffee he was craving ten minutes ago. If only he could see Marco’s face. Too bad there’s a table in the fucking way, and Marco seems too reluctant to make any sort of noises that aren’t disgruntled, half-hearted protests. 

Jean takes the base in one hand, rests the other on Marco’s thigh and offers him a light, reassuring squeeze; and then he’s pulling himself back off of Marco’s cock and tapping just the tip against his tongue. He can only imagine how hard Marco is trying not to moan, with Jean’s breath hot and his tongue wet on the most sensitive parts of Marco’s cock. He twists his wrist once, twice, experimentally, and tickles at the slit with the tip of his tongue. He’s already rewarded by a hint of salty pre-come. And here Marco didn’t think that he could get turned on right now because he was too stressed out over an exam.

Oh, ye of little faith.

When Jean closes his lips around Marco again, it’s just the head, and he swirls the flat of his tongue in circles around its underside. It’s dark under the table, so Jean goes by feel alone when he rests his cheek against the inside of Marco’s thigh and offers light pressure of his fingers around the base. 

By now, Marco’s rock solid, vein on the underside of his length pulsing, and Jean is intent on swallowing him down again. He takes Marco in until he feels the tip touch the back of his throat, then swallows. Shivers pulse down his spine when Marco’s thigh trembles beneath his grasp.  _Fuck_ , Jean thinks when he feels heat pooling in his own abdomen and his pants getting tight. It’d be selfish, unreasonable to expect Marco to return the favor the night before an exam—at least Jean can expect to thoroughly enjoy wanking himself to sleep. The memory of this, plus that new vibrating toy Reiner ordered from the internet (an apology for not being around much while he applied for residencies and struggled in the OR), would certainly be enough.

Jean would sleep fucking well tonight.

Soon, he’s bobbing his head with all the enthusiasm that’s been building, pent-up for too long—he hears little sighs whenever Marco hits the back of his tight throat. 

The relaxation would be good for him. It’d clear his mind. Jean was doing him a favor.

A little knock on the wooden table above him makes Jean think that Marco must have grabbed onto the edge or slammed his fist down in his efforts to keep quiet. Damn, he probably looks amazing, trying to keep his expression stoic in the event that someone walks by and happens to peer into the study room that Marco’s claimed for his own. 

Marco’s thigh trembles again—Jean feels the muscle clench—and then there’s Marco’s seed spilled on the back of Jean’s tongue, a little trickling down his throat. With Marco’s cock still buried deep in his mouth, Jean swallows it down and hums approval around Marco’s girth.

The chair Marco is sitting in squeaks. Jean peers out from beneath the desk, swiping wetness away from his lips with the back of his hand, and sees his boyfriend’s head thrown back, his arm over his eyes. 

“Dammit, Jean,” he whispers. He sounds disappointed, and for a moment Jean is worried.

He props his chin on Marco’s thigh and peers up at him from between his legs. “What? Did someone see?”

Marco grimaces. “No. I’m just painfully aware of how fast my heart is beating and trying not to think about tachycardia or EKGs or cardiac myocyte action potentials.”

“Love you, too, Marco.”


	2. Shower Sex

At first, the water is too hot when it pelts his shoulders in a gentle massage, but Jean adjusts quickly to the steam and the way the droplets plummet down his back and trickle in little rivers between his shoulderblades. For a while, he stands there, unmoving save for the aggressive motion of raking his fingers through his hair. It’s been a long day.

He opens his mouth, maybe to sing, but only heaves a massive sigh before closing his lips again and reaching for the bottle of shampoo. It’s not a singing kind of day. He’s too tired for this shit, mind too involved in his project for lyrics composed of anything else but streams of data and observations from his most recent experiments.

That presentation is due tomorrow.

 _Fuck my life_. 

Even beyond the sound of the water showering down onto the tile like Jean’s personal rainstorm, he hears the front door slam and a clamorous conversation break out in the living room. It’s obviously Reiner and Marco, just now getting back from whatever the hell the med students do at night; and Jean hears the voices escalate until the two of them must be standing directly outside the bathroom door.

“He almost done?” Reiner asks, and Jean can just imagine the way he abruptly throws his thumb over his shoulder towards the bathroom door. Vain piece of shit always wants the bathroom to himself, even when Jean barely gets any time in it every morning. 

There’s a quieter voice, Bertholdt’s, and then the bathroom door is pushed open with all the force that Jean would expect from the living shitstorm that is Reiner Braun. “Yo Jean, comin’ in.”

And there it goes—all hope of Jean enjoying a quiet shower to himself. So much for even ten minutes of his day being relaxing. He supposes that’s just not allowed anymore. It’s one of those days when he really regrets pursuing a degree beyond his bachelor’s. 

Jean scrambles to cover himself when Reiner tears back the shower curtain, not because he worries about his modesty around Reiner but because the air out there is  _cold_ and,

“Holy shit, Reiner, you’re letting the steam out.”

“Marco you get the fuck in here, too!” Reiner calls, shoving his much smaller boyfriend out of the stream of water and into the uncomfortably cold corner. “You smell like formaldehyde and it’s even grosser than me getting guts on me earlier.”

“ _What_? No, get  _out_.” Jean’s protest is one fueled by terror. Reiner had  _blood_ on him?

With all the suddenness of Reiner’s entrance into the bathroom, he grabs Jean’s face between both of his meaty hands and presses their lips together hard. “Missed you,” he whispers hotly against Jean’s lips, and then the PhD student isn’t so squeamish anymore. Skin slick with heated water slides against his front, and then his back and there are teeth scraping his neck holy  _fuck_. 

“I don’t think there’s room for me.” Jean hears Bert’s voice again, too, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes or even so much as turn his head to acknowledge his third boyfriend, and the tallest of the four of them, try to force his way into the shower at Marco’s insistence. 

“I just,” Jean moans against Reiner’s mouth. “Wanted to take a shower?”

It’s way,  _way_ too crowded; but at least Jean is sandwiched between three bodies and not pressed up against the cold tile of the shower. His hair is tugged, his head coaxed around sideways, and then Marco is claiming his lips while Reiner makes his move on Bert. Jean suddenly has a feeling that Reiner  _didn’t_ get any bodily fluids splashed on him during his rounds and that Marco  _wasn’t_ studying in the cadaver lab because this all seems too planned for that.

Jean pretends to care a lot more than he actually does. It’s hard to give a shit when his cock is swelling with need and he finds himself grinding unintentionally against Reiner’s thigh while Marco claims his lips. They all shift their positions a little, stumbling around each other awkwardly when Jean’s body is bending too much for comfort, and find themselves in some sort of new configuration where it’s all hands around each other’s necks and grabbing at hair and clawing down backs. When Jean turns his head to avoid getting water in his eyes, it provides a surprisingly good angle for Marco’s tongue to slip into his mouth. He sucks on it a little, earning a grunt from Marco, and flicks the tip of his own tongue against the muscle. 

He loses himself in skin and hands on his cock and lips on his neck and steam. Hot, hot steam and the sound of water pelting the tile drowning out four men’s pleasured gasps and murmured declarations. 

One of them is going to break their damn necks.

Jean supposes that if he’s going to break his neck, this is a pretty good way to do it.

He doesn’t even care when someone who weighs much more than he does steps on his foot. The hand around his erection feels way too good to care about anything else—a quick effort to orient himself lets him know that it’s Reiner jacking him off and twisting his wrist at  _just_ the right spot to send lightning shooting up his spine and right back down to his toes. In the same glance downwards he sees Marco’s hand performing similar actions on Bertholdt’s dick. Wow. He licks his lips. It’s fucking hot to watch.

He hears Bert whimper against his ear now, and then his head lowers to nuzzle into Jean’s neck and clamp his teeth down into the meat of Jean’s shoulder when Marco does something with his hand that he particularly likes. Jean throws his head back—it’s good. Really good. Even better when he sees Marco and Reiner attacking each other’s lips with all the energy they’re putting into stroking their boyfriends’ cocks. 

Jean knows that this isn’t what he originally wanted when he stripped down to his clothes and stepped into the shower’s warmth, but that has no bearing on how much he knows he wants it now. If water was a better lubricant, he’d be begging for fingers up his ass. Maybe later that night. Nothing is stopping them from taking this out of the shower. The water is going to get cold, anyway. Maybe that wouldn’t be half bad, Jean thinks. It’s almost uncomfortably hot, now. 

He never realizes how much of a challenge it is to decide whose name he starts to whine when he’s getting close until the time actually comes. His words jumble into some combination of the three. Even Jean doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, but he doesn’t need to. That’s not how this is supposed to work. And Reiner always makes sure to leave him just as clueless as he is breathless after he reaches his climax and falls back against the shower wall to recover. Jean spends his time coming down watching Bertholdt find the same satisfaction, and it’s almost enough to give him another hard on.

When the four of them come down into a less desperate, quieter pile of bodies, Jean realizes that his skin is wrinkling. 

“Fuck you guys. I never even washed my hair.”


	3. Outdoors

Dr. Ackermann offered Bertholdt part of the lab’s funding to purchase airline tickets to the conference halfway across the country, and as a first-year PhD in a collaborating lab, it wouldn’t have been difficult to get Jean in on it, too. There were so many problems with this idea, though---Bertholdt hates flying, he needs Reiner to be at any talk or presentation he has to give, and there was no way to get the med students in on this seemingly sweet deal. Reiner’s spent just about all of his spare cash on residency application fees, and Marco is just struggling to not let too much of his aid money slip towards the purchase of alcohol every free weekend he has (which is not many, but booze is expensive nowadays). The fact that cookies from the place that delivers until 3 am are so expensive also plays no role whatsoever in helping Marco keep a tight wallet. There’s only one thing working in their favor, and that’s the date of the conference--smack in the middle of the medical school’s (and therefore Marco and Reiner’s) Spring Break.

They decide to drive.

It’s only--what--a thirteen-hour trip? No big deal. They’re future medical doctors and scientists. Roadtrips are the last things that should scare them. It’s not the length that worries any of them, just the fear that their laptop batteries won’t last the day. Bertholdt’s going to want to tweak his presentation until the moment he steps up on that stage with quivering knees, because that’s the kind of person he is. Then there’s Marco and Jean, who always have things to be working on and whom the lack of internet on the highway is really going to bother. Reiner is the only one who seems even slightly carefree, despite the fact he’s probably the busiest of all of them right now, finishing up his surgery electives and doing some database research on the side. He’s already interviewed once or twice for some residency programs, though, so he’s at least a _little_ more accustomed to travel.

“It’ll be fun,” he says, even as his eyes are halfway closed and the dark circles from lack of sleep stand out especially boldly against his pale complexion.

Marco takes the wheel, Bertholdt assumes the position of copilot, and Reiner and Jean scrunch up in the backseat playing some kinds of shitty phone games that they’ll inevitably be unamused by after the passing of the first half hour on interstate. It’s all fun and adventurous for the first hour, singing along to music and excited chatter, but then Bert is waist-deep in reviewing his presentation, Reiner is asleep hunched over against the window, and Jean is mumbling about staring at his phone for so long that he’s starting to get carsick. Eventually, he puts his headphones in and wriggles out of the seatbelt to spread out against Reiner, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head lulled to one side.

In and out he dozes, far beyond the point where his brain can register lengths of time, until his eyes flicker open only to see Marco looking like an utter zombie at the wheel. “Dude,” Jean says, and Bertholdt startles at the sudden break in silence. Monotonous road noises will put you in a daze, that’s for sure. It’s probably why Reiner is still asleep behind Jean, even though his head is twisted at a crazy angle and his neck is going to hurt like hell whenever he wakes up.

Marco perks up, lifts his eyes to glance at Jean in the rearview mirror. “What, babe?”

“Can you not fall asleep driving and kill us, maybe?”

Marco reaches into the console and brandishes one of those fraps in a glass bottle. “Brought this along for a reason.”

“Jean may have a point,” Bertholdt asserts in a quiet tone.

“Well _you’re_ not driving,” Marco says to Bert. “And Reiner’s asleep.”

Jean frowns. “I’m right here, you know.”

“Jean, you’re a _horrible_ driver. As in _terrifying_. A lot scarier than the slight chance that I’ll fall asleep up here.” Marco turns a hair to halfway address Jean over his shoulder, and it’s enough for Jean to see the way Marco’s eyes are entirely glazed over with fatigue.

“I swear to god, Marco Bodt. Pull the fuck over.”

For the first time in a couple of hours, Reiner blinks awake and murmurs, “You just have to take a piss and don’t want to admit it, you little brat.”

Goddammit, how did Reiner always know him so well? Jean flips him the finger and pouts. The silence is an indication that Reiner’s guess was absolutely right. Jean is lucky that Marco’s not one for torture. Just as any good boyfriend would, he pulls off at the next exit. It would be just their luck that it’s one of those places where the supposed gas stations are nowhere in sight and none of them have any idea whether they should even turn right or left.

If Jean has to whip it out and piss behind a tree or something, he’s almost positive he will never have the courage to take another roadtrip again. It’s experiences like that which break a man, and Jean wants no part of it.

Bertholdt points quietly out the window while Jean is busy shifting positions in the cramped backseat. When he decides to follow the direction Bertholdt’s finger is pointing, he’s glad he did, because he lifts his eyes to the most beautiful overlook. Mountains taller than the rolling hills of California he’s grown up with are crowned by cloudy wisps, tinted orange and pink by the sun letting itself fall over the horizon to make way for the moon and stars.

“Well, damn.” Apparently, Reiner is looking now, too, because his voice rings out clear and reverent beside Jean.

There’s no one else on the road to stop them, and Reiner begs Marco to pull a uey and go back. “Just for a few pictures,” Marco reassures Jean, who only crosses his arms in a feigned attempt to keep his grumpiness number one in his boyfriends’ attention. Secretly, he wants another look at that view, too. The valleys wind forever below them, and is that a fucking hawk that flies overhead?

“We landed ourselves in a Nat Geo documentary,” Jean comments.

Bertholdt turns and looks at him, then grins in that weird way of his where he’s very obviously trying not to laugh. A few electronic camera clicks break the monotone of the car’s engine that’s still running even though Marco has stepped outside, leaving the driver’s door open.

“The majestic Bodt, approaching a foreign habitat, brandishes his smartphone to take pictures like a shitty tourist.” Jean could have been a narrator in another life. Reiner elbows him and chuckles.

“Hey Marco,” the blond calls out the window from the backseat. “This kid’s going to wet your upholstery. Car’s gonna reek for days.”

“Wow, asshole.”

Bertholdt has long since joined Marco outside, and Jean watches them lean in for a brief kiss over the scenery. Wow, seriously?

“Don’t look so disgusted, Jean. They’re your boyfriends, stupid.”

“They are _making out_ while I am being _so damn_ patient...”

Marco and Bert climb back in the car. “That was far from making out, Jean,” Marco says. “Don’t be such a baby.” Okay, so maybe they weren’t making out, but the energy between the two of them in the front seat is still palpable when Marco pulls from the overlook in search of the gas station, a restroom, and another round of energy drinks.

Miraculously, a little bit of patience goes a long way, and there’s a little Stop n Go about a mile and a half down the mostly-deserted road. Jean is noticeably a lot happier now that he’s relieved himself and has a tea lemonade Monster in his hand. The sun has set almost completely when they pull out of the station, but there’s still some greyish purple left in the sky--they’re all in silent agreement that the overlook needs one more stop.

This time, Marco kills the engine after parking towards the corner of the little lot, then releases himself from the seatbelt so he can turn around and give Jean of his _looks_. “Is it acceptable to kiss my boyfriend now, Jean?” The question dances with teasing, but Jean’s smirk is much more serious.

“Only if I’m the boyfriend you’re talking about.” He leans forward and lets Marco grab his face in his hands--the kiss is earnest but lazy, still good. Reiner graces Jean with a light slap on the ass before tugging him back into the backseat and then throwing him across it roughly enough that the back of Jean’s head _almost_ slams against the armrest of the door behind him.

Reiner interrupts whatever protest would have made its way out of Jean’s mouth with, “Someone’s got to keep you in line, man.”

Jean whines, and he really just wants someone to kiss. He didn’t ask for whatever Reiner is planning now, his large hands splayed across Jean’s stomach beneath his shirt. It’s a wonder that both of them fit in the back at all, but when Reiner leans over him in a position suggestive of something sexual, it’ll be a downright miracle if they don’t break their necks.

Jean reaches up between the window and the headrest of Bertholdt’s seat, grabbing blindly and letting his fingers find purchase in tousled dark hair. Bert gasps a little (at least Jean thinks he does--it’s hard to hear over Reiner’s heavy breaths against his ear as he tongues the fleshy lobe), but when Jean finally manages to straighten himself up against the door, Bertholdt is there. Jean catches a glimpse of Marco leaning over into the passenger seat, across Bert, and fooling with the lever on the side of the cushion so that Bertholdt can lean the seat back enough to plant a fumbling kiss that lands somewhere on Jean’s cheek instead of his mouth.

Reiner steals Bertholdt, then, leaving Jean alone for the moment to palm at Reiner’s crotch in a way he hopes is attention-grabbing--those little lovebites were nice. He wants more.

A brief flash of reason comes to light in Jean’s addled brain, but he thinks little of it. This will only make them more tired, he thinks, rendering all of them unsuited to finish their drive to the hotel where the conference is being held. No, the events don’t start until morning, but they’ve got to get there and actually sleep the night before they present themselves to the professional public...

The thought leaves him as quickly as it came. Jean has never been one to plan for the future. It’s much more fun to be caught up in the present--especially when the present means feeling the heavy weight of Reiner’s cock in his hand and watching Marco slip Bertholdt’s shirt off over his head, interrupting the tall mans’ kiss with Reiner.

Jean whines in a way that tells everyone in the car he wants to be the center of attention now. It’s always a constant battle between himself and Bertholdt, not that Bertholdt ever takes any part in the battling himself.

Reiner finally gives Jean what he wants and presses firm lips against Jean’s mouth. Bertholdt is left to Marco’s own devices, and Jean thinks he sees Marco settle back into the driver’s seat only for Bertholdt to lean over and lavish some much-needed attention on Marco’s cock.

Jean moans, claws at Reiner’s shirt, and tries to make himself comfortable in the seat. That damn clicky part of the seatbelt--Jean can’t remember whatever the fuck it’s called--digs into his lower back, and the slight slant of the car seat only tempts Jean’s body to slide into a cramped position against the back of the seat. When he stretches one of his legs, it catches in a seatbelt. Reiner clearly doesn’t notice, as he’s already focusing on slicking his palm with the saliva pooled on his tongue. That wet grip fastens around Jean’s shaft, and then the process is repeated for Reiner’s impressive length.

None of them have lost their pants quite yet, and yet there are little gasps and moans and whimpered pleas echoing in the car’s interior which is suddenly much too hot for comfort. Jean thinks Marco must have the best end of the deal at the moment, because not only is he sitting in a seat as it’s mean to be sat in, but he’s also got a magnificent view of the sunset’s last performance before nighttime. Not to mention Jean is fully aware of what great blowjobs Bertholdt is capable of. Marco’s pleasured groans are certainly not for show.

Reiner has plans of his own, Jean quickly discovers when the man atop him presses their slippery cocks together and starts jerking them both off _hard_. The spit isn’t nearly as good as lube, but the only bottle Jean knows of is in the trunk, very far out of their reach at the moment. The boys may have come prepared, but not prepared enough, it seems.

Jean makes the best of it, though, gathers some saliva on his tongue and dabs his index finger into it until the tip is covered. A gossamer strand maintains the connection between his finger and his pink tongue when he pulls it out and dabs it onto the head of Reiner’s cock, smears it around in little circles and ever-so-gently presses into Reiner’s slit with his fingernail.

The resulting sharp gasp of Jean’s name is more than satisfying. Jean 1, Reiner 0. Okay, so maybe it’s Jean 1, Reiner 100 when Reiner fondles Jean’s balls with his other hand and does something weird with a turn of his wrist that has heat pooling almost unbearably at the base of Jean’s spine. He throws his head back, and this time there _is_ a thump against the doorframe. Oh, well. Carsex in a compact with four guys was sure to get out of hand at some point.

For the most part, everything is a blur. There’s some weight lifted off of Jean when Reiner leans backwards to capture Marco’s mouth in a kiss that twists his body but remains just as earnest. The rising mewls in Marco’s throat are silenced, drank down deep into Reiner’s core as he kisses him. From the sound of it, Bertholdt completed his work, and there’s probably a good bit of cum in the back of his throat now.

Reiner is always good at comforting his men during their afterglow, and Jean doesn’t allow himself to feel any twinge of jealousy because he knows that he’ll be next, when his time comes. He’s patient, maybe for the first time in his life, as he toys absently with Reiner’s cock and fingers the ridge at its crown, pushing at the foreskin that’s already mostly retracted back off of the head. The next time he touches his index finger to his tongue, looking for more slickness to lavish on Reiner’s tip, he tastes the unmistakably salty hint of Reiner’s pre-come.

Bertholdt makes a little noise, and Jean hears Reiner say, “Don’t worry, baby, Marco’s gonna get you off nice, too.”

“Way ahead of you.” Marco’s voice is low and heady, determined. There’s the jangling of a belt buckle and a zipper sound right before the newest voice carrying throughout the car indicates that Bertholdt is getting his own turn.

Finally, Reiner returns to Jean, glances down to watch the smaller man playing with his cock. “I know you love it. Want my come on your face, babe?”

Jean bites his lip and shakes his head. Normally, the answer would be “fuck yes,” but right now that would mean the removing the slick slides of Reiner’s shaft from against his own. That’s the last thing Jean wants, especially when he’s getting so close.

Maybe it’s Marco murmuring affirmations, saying Jean’s name even as he’s stroking Bertholdt’s cock in the front seat, that sends Jean over the edge. He’s not sure exactly what the combination is or how much each individual aspect contributes to his building orgasm, but when it comes, it’s good.

The word seems too simple to describe the way he grows rigid as pleasure confines him and overwhelms just about every signal firing in his brain. He breathes some string of unintelligible curses as he’s coming down and isn’t even bothered when Reiner spills himself onto Jean’s stomach a couple minutes later.

Some time passes, and then Marco’s hand is grabbing Jean’s as it reaches back from the front to offer silent comfort. In turn, Reiner rests his hand protectively on the back of Bertholdt’s neck, and that’s the way the four of them stay until Jean gripes, “Marco, your car is fucking uncomfortable. I demand a redo on the hotel mattress.”


End file.
